


Things That Stop Things That Break Other Things

by funkymoths



Category: Time Bombs (Podcast), Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, I don’t actually support Noah Masur selfcest, I need all of you to understand that this is a joke, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 05:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkymoths/pseuds/funkymoths
Summary: In which there are fireworks, and Mark Midland makes a bad decision





	Things That Stop Things That Break Other Things

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr @units214 you know the pain and suffering that has gone into this monstrosity

There was a bomb. Midland knew that much. He stood next to Teller, both clad in protective bomb resistant suits, tools in hand. Neither one said anything.

“You know what I hate, boss?” Midland spoke up, eyes still locked on the device in front of them. “Do you know what I really, really hate?”

“What do you really really hate?” Teller humored him, breaking his stare down with the explosives before him.

“Valentine’s Day” Midland said. The bomb in front of them was concealed in a large, pink, gaudy, heart shaped box, with a small note taped to the front. “I hate Valentine’s Day.” The note in question was written in messy, scrawled red sharpie, and simply read: Happy Valentine’s Day You Idiots. Love, D.J

“Who’s D.J, again?” Radio Bob’s voice was distorted and crackly over the radio. 

“D.J. is this anarchist bomber who’s been placing bombs all over New York over these past couple months. He’s recently been targeting us specifically” Teller explained. “And he’s been a real pain in our ass.” He grumbled something under his breath that Midland couldn’t quite make out, but was sure was a string of various expletives. 

“D.J. is also highly proficient with building explosive devices. Maybe that’s what we should be focusing on.” Midland gestured wildly to the explosive pink heart in front of them. 

“Oh lighten up, Midland.” Bob said. “Isn’t kind of exciting? It’s like a comic book! You know, like catching the supervillain? Like Batman!”

“Only you would think of it like that, Bob.” said Teller. “Midland, pliers.” He held out his hand. Midland passed him the tool. Carefully, Midland lifted the lid of the cardboard heart, not sure what to expect. He definitely wasn’t expecting fireworks. Opening the lid created a small spark, which caught on the fuse of a large firework, which in turn lit the fuse for a second firework, and so forth. “Uh, Midland....”

“What’s going on there, guys?” Bob buzzed in over the radio. “Guys?’ 

“Fireworks.” Midland stared at the cluster of explosives staring them down. “So. Many. Fireworks.” The next moment seemed to take an eternity. As the fuses on the fireworks burned down, Midland stood still, unsure of what to do. Teller tackled him to the ground as the fireworks shot into the sky. Red and pink sparks showered the cleared out city block.

“Oh, fuck.” Midland sighed.

“Language.” Teller got to his feet. “Bob, can you hear us alright?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Bring the van back over.” Midland said. “I need to sit down.”

\---

“I just don’t get who this D.J punk thinks he is!” Teller complained. It was a few hours later, and the team was relaxing in a bar. “Fireworks? Come on.”

“Relax, boss.” Midland took a sip of his beer. “At least no one was hurt.” 

“It’s not like any of his bombs have been made to hurt people.” Bob said. “They’re more like...public nucainsses.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about not being able to disarm a bunch of fireworks in a heart shaped box?” Teller made direct eye contact with Bob, and Bob immediately looked down at the horrifying combination of fancy liquor he was drinking. 

“Fireworks?” The man sitting at the bar next to Midland looked over at them. “Someone’s been having a rough day.” 

“Tell me about it.” Midland sighed. 

“You look familiar” Teller looked over at the man, squinting. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t believe so.” The man said. “The name’s Jacobi. Daniel Jacobi.” Jacobi was scruffy and tired looking, like he hadn’t slept in days. His fingers and hands were covered in small scrapes and dark grease smudges that could’ve been from a mechanic job of sorts. He was good looking, Midland thought.

“Nice meeting you, Jacobi.” Midland smiled. Jacobi raised the glass of whiskey he was drinking as a sort of toast. “I’m Mark Midland. That’s Simon Teller.” Teller took a swig of his beer. “And Radio Bob.” Bob gave a small wave. 

“Quite the team you have here.” Jacobi commented. “So what’s this I hear about bombs?” Midland explained to him about how they worked in an EOD unit, or as it was more commonly known: Bomb Squad. Then, Teller made his obligatory ‘Everyone’s Divorced’ joke, and he and Bob descended into laughter. 

“Ignore them.” Midland sighed. “They always do this.” He shoved Teller in the shoulder. 

“And are you?” Jacobi asked. “Divorced, I mean.”

“Ha. Nope.” Taking a sip of his beer, Midland grinned.”I’m pretty new to the job though. Here’s hoping, I guess.” He crossed his fingers jokingly. Jacobi laughed.

“I’ve had some experience with bombs myself, actually.” He said.

“Really? Small world I guess.” Midland looked over at him.

“Yeah. The work wasn’t exactly what you do, though. I was more on the building side of things. Building…” Jacobi paused. “things. That break other things.” Noticing the mildly horrified look on Midland’s face, he added, “Not anymore. It was a long time ago.”

“Hey Midland, Teller and me are gonna turn in for the night.” Bob cut in. “Can you, like, get an uber or something?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Midland waved him away. “G’night, man.”

“‘Night,” Teller said, clapping Midland on the shoulder. He took one last look at Jacobi, squinting slightly. “I still feel like I know you from somewhere.” He shrugged. “Anyways, see you tomorrow, Midland. And I guess I’ll see you around, Jacobi.” Jacobi nodded. And then Teller and Bob were gone, and it was just Midland and Jacobi at the bar.

 

Jacobi was a surprisingly good conversationalist, and time seemed to slip away as he recounted funny stories from his last job to Midland. The guy was funny, Midland realized, and. It was halfway through a story about a duck, and one of Jacobi’s old friends, a woman named Alana, that Midland finally spoke up.

“You talk about most of these people like…” Midland hesitated. “Like they’re not here anymore.” Jacobi’s breath hitched.

“Alana Maxwell died a few years ago.” He said.

“Oh.”

“Most of my friends from back then are dead, actually.” Jacobi took a look sip of his whiskey, sort of laughing. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” Midland put a hand on Jacobi’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to bring it up. If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

“Good.” Jacobi gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, it’s a touchy subject. Anyways, you must have some interesting stories from working in a bomb squad.” The way he said that let Midland know there would be no more talking about Alana Maxwell, or any of those other people.

“Well,” Midland started. “Did I tell you about the time on New Years when Teller almost let a clown school explode?”

“A clown school?” Jacobi snickered. “I didn’t know that Goddard Futuristics got that many bomb threats…”

They talked late into the night, until Midland realized he had twelve missed calls from Teller and twenty five from Bob.

“I probably should get going.” Midland said, getting up from his seat at the bar. “It was nice talking to you, Jacobi.”

“You too.” Jacobi said. “Hey, pass me your phone.” Midland obliged, and he added his number into Midland’s contacts. “There.” He nodded. “We should do this again sometime. Dinner, maybe? You free Friday night?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Midland smiled. “It’s a date, than.” 

“Yeah.” Jacobi grinned. 

Midland’s phone buzzed.

“My Uber’s here. I’ll be seeing you around I guess.” He said. Midland left the bar, but not before looking over his shoulder to see Jacobi ordering yet another whiskey.

In the Uber, Midland called Teller back, before he could leave a sixteenth voicemail. Teller picked up almost immediately.

“Midland! Why haven’t you been picking up?”

“Hi boss. I was-”

“Hold on, give me the phone.” Bob said on the other end. There was a shuffling noise, and Midland could hear Teller on Bob bickering through the muted noises. Midland sat with his phone up to his ear, waiting for the problem to sort itself out. 

“Ok. Can you hear me okay if we’re on speaker?” Bob asked. 

“Loud and clear.” Midland sighed. “What’s up?”

“There was something very familiar about that guy you were talking to. Daniel Jacobi. Name ring any bells, Midland?” Teller inquired. Before Midland could answer, Teller continued his monologue. “He said he had a background making bombs, didn’t he? Well, it turns out he used to work for Goddard Futuristics.”

“And?”

“And,” Bob cut in. “That bomber we’ve been dealing with, fireworks guy, you know, has left three separate bombs on various pieces of Goddard property. So…”

“D.J. Daniel Jacobi.” Teller said. 

“Shit,” muttered Midland, under his breath. “Of course this has to happen…”

“What?” There was a worried tone in Teller’s voice. “Midland, what did you do? Midland?”

“Well, if he really is who you say he is…” Midland took a deep breath. “I’m going out for dinner with him on Friday.” There was a moment of silence. Midland could feel Teller’s seething disappointment through the phone.

“Well.” said Teller. “I did not anticipate this. Mostly because you don’t get out much, if I’m being honest.”

“Boss.”

“Right. Serious business.” Teller said. Midland could hear him and Bob snickering.

“Congrats on getting a date, buddy.” started Bob. “But he’s also the criminal we’ve been following, so un-congrats I guess.”

\---

Friday afternoon. There was a chill in the February air, and Midland still couldn’t get around the fact that later he was going out for dinner at a nice sushi restaurant with a known criminal who had tried to blow up half of NYC. Teller had given him the whole “You Shouldn’t Date Terrorists I Can’t Believe I Have To Explain That To You Of All People Midland” talk the second he stepped into the office that morning, along with telling him that he ‘probably had the legal authority to arrest Jacobi if he ever admitted that he’d blown up any buildings.’ The only thing in between Midland and his fateful date was a call to investigate an unattended suitcase left outside a closed down Kohl’s.

Midland and Teller, equipped with all their bomb gear, stepped out of the van and surveyed the scene. The area was cleared out, and the suitcase on its own didn’t look very threatening. Just a normal black carry on bag that you might take on an airplane, if it were not for the smell of gunpowder. Carefully, Teller unzipped the suitcase. It wasn’t rigged up like the pink heart was, but inside was a large box of unopened fireworks, and a piece of white paper. 

The paper was covered in scratchy writing in red sharpie, showing off the words: “M.M. Call me. Love D.J.” 

Midland sighed. 

“Well,” Bob buzzed in over the radio. “Are you going to call him or not?”


End file.
